


Edge

by AngelQueen



Series: Porn Battle Entries [7]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/M, Half-Sibling Incest, Het, Incest, PWP, Porn, Porn Battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-11
Updated: 2012-02-11
Packaged: 2017-10-30 23:29:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/337356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelQueen/pseuds/AngelQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His blood is still roaring through his veins, seeking some kind of outlet. Set pre-series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Edge

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the winter 2012 Porn Battle, from the prompt: _Morgana/Arthur, desperate, tournament_.

The cheers of the crowd are deafening even as Arthur leaves the arena, striding toward his tent. He’s won, which will certainly please his father - the prize money that the kingdom put up won’t be leaving the royal coffers after all. He’s pleased too - his intensive training has paid off - but his blood is still roaring through his veins, seeking some kind of outlet. He still feels on edge, and after having won the tournament, he still wants to _do_ something.

Once inside his tent, Arthur grabs a discarded half-filled tankard off the table and splashes it in his face, hoping the chill of the water will calm him. 

It doesn’t. Of course. 

The movement of heavy fabric causes Arthur to look up and turn. The tent flap comes down, covering the entrance and hiding the view of Morgana standing there, a smirk on her face. “You must be so proud,” she says. “Yet another day of beating everyone else senseless and winning a prize that you’ll never see a coin of.”

Arthur glares at her, hating to be reminded of the fact that his father controls his purse strings so tightly. “Must we do this now, Morgana?” he asks irritably. His blood is up; he’s in no frame of mind to deal with her mood on top of his own.

“If not now, then when?” she shoots back. “You look like you want to kill something - or someone.” He watches her step closer, supremely unconcerned by the violence she can so easily spot on him. The sleeves of her white dress billow slightly as she reaches out to him. “Can’t have you snapping and taking it out on the servants,” she says. Her fingers are deft as they run over his armor, loosening it until it falls to the ground. “Or is that what you want?” she says, her voice taking on that challenging tone again. Morgana loves to taunt, even when it means playing with fire. “Perhaps you _want_ to beat someone senseless, someone who can’t defend themselves. Maybe you’re a real brute under that veneer -”

Arthur doesn’t give her a chance to finish before he snaps. He grabs her wrists in a grip that will surely bruise her pale skin later and pulls her flush against his sweaty chest. His lips cover hers in a brutal kiss before she can utter another word.

To her credit, Morgana doesn’t falter in the face of the sudden change. She presses against him, her mouth opening against his so that their tongues can begin their own dance. She allows him to back her up against the table and lift her up just enough to deposit her on top of it. Her hands go to the lacings of his trousers just as his set to tugging her skirts up around her thighs. The frothy, silky material is such a hindrance that he longs to tear it from her body, but doesn’t dare, given their location.

While she is pushing his trousers down, freeing his burgeoning erection, Arthur spreads her legs wider to accommodate him. He still wears his gloves, but doesn’t bother taking them off when he prods at her center. After a few moments, he pulls his fingers free and sees the moisture there. Good, she’s already wet.

And wanting, he notices, if her impatient tugging is anything to go by. Which is good, because he is in no mood to wait. It only takes a few movements before plunges inside of her, hard and fast.

Morgana leans back on her arms, groaning at the sensations. Her head falls back as well, baring the white skin of her throat. Arthur has little control left at this point, and has no problem falling on top of her, biting against that skin even as he jerks his hips against hers over and over again.

“Such… a brute… Arthur,” Morgana says between gasps, but does nothing to push him off or get him to stop.

He chokes out a dark laugh. “Maybe,” he admits, “but what does… it say about you? You… came here, knowing… what I’m like.” He presses against her and twists, letting the hairs of his groin grind against her clit, which causes her to actually _whimper_. He forces himself to pause in his movements, staring down at her. Her cheeks are flushed, and her breathing is coming in heaving gasps. “You _enjoy_ this, Morgana. Enjoy… being fucked by… the future king of… Camelot.”

Even in the midst of her pleasure, she rolls her eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself. I -” Arthur kisses her then, not wanting to hear anything more. He wants to finish this. They don’t have much time before they’re both missed, anyway.

He resumes driving into her willing body, and then snakes one of his gloved hands in between them. He flicks at her clit with his leather-encased fingers and just as he knew she would, Morgana begins to convulse around him. Her inner walls tighten around his prick like a velvet vice, trying desperately to keep him buried inside of her. It only takes a few more strokes before Arthur groans, spending himself inside of her.

Part of him wants to collapse on top of her, to stay in the midst of Morgana’s soft depths until his softened prick slides out of its own accord, but there’s no time for that now. He’ll soon be called forth to be named the official winner of the tournament, and Morgana will be expected to be sitting beside his father, poised and gracious.

Perhaps he’ll go to her tonight, after the feast. Then they can take their time, and celebrate.


End file.
